


The Meaning of Hell

by Lokiscribe



Series: This Was My Home [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anger, Betrayal, Bruises, Despair, Desperation, Fear, Gen, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, No Sex, No Smut, Post-Betrayal, Rage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 05, Winterfell, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokiscribe/pseuds/Lokiscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is furious with Reek for betraying her to Ramsay. She lets him know. (Basically my pre-Hardhome speculation of how Sansa would react to Reek ratting her out)</p><p>Spoilers for S5E7 "The Gift"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> (This note contains spoilers for S5E7)
> 
> Inspired by the Sansa/Ramsay/Reek storyline in S5E7 "The Gift." Takes place in the evening on the day when Ramsay showed Sansa the flayed northern woman. I also included Sansa's line from the S5E8 promo.

Sansa waited in her room for the rest of the day, neither eating nor sleeping, with the image of the flayed woman still frighteningly clear in her memory. Of all the things she had seen, surely nothing had been worse than what she’d witnessed today… She had not seen her brothers with their bodies burnt; she had not seen her mother with her throat slit open. She may have seen her father’s head upon a spike, but at least he’d died quickly (a “clean death,” as Joffrey had called it, she remembered bitterly). This woman had suffered unthinkably. What a slow, agonizing way that must have been to die… 

She felt a desperate anger, burning with all the furor of a full-blown rage, but she also wanted to weep with hopelessness; to shed tears for herself and for those her husband - her horrible, cruel husband - had harmed. 

Not everyone he had harmed, though. No, right now she wished nothing but misfortune on a particular victim of Lord Ramsay Bolton. And she intended to let him know her anger at the next opportunity. 

When “Reek” came to deliver her evening meal, Sansa was ready. 

“ _You traitor!_ " she cried, charging toward him and shoving him against the wall. The platter holding her dinner tumbled to the ground, but she paid it no notice. “You said you would help me and you LIED! You LIED, how _could_ you?” She held him by the shoulders and shook him aggressively, ignoring his terrified pleas. 

“M’lady, please!” the ruined man begged as she raged at him. “Please, I’m sorry, I had to, I had to!”

“You _had_ to!” Sansa exclaimed. “A woman is _dead_ because of what you did! I asked you for help and instead you _betrayed_ me and got a woman _killed!_ ” She stepped back in disgust. “Was the murder of my brothers insufficient to quell your blood thirst? Are you _proud_ of yourself, Turncloak?” 

“ _No!_ Never proud, m’lady. Reek has no pride - I only did what I had to, m’lady! Lord Ramsay would have punished us both if I’d helped you!”

“He would never have known!” Sansa cried, gesturing wildly in disbelief. “How would he know? And it would be _worth_ risking a punishment to try and escape this Hell - ”

“You don’t know what Hell is, m-m’lady - no, listen, please,” he begged weakly as she opened her mouth to protest. “It could be s-so much worse… You think he hurts you now… He - he doesn’t… Not really… Please believe me! I’m - I’m _protecting_ you.” 

“He _rapes_ me every night!” she snarled in anger. “Do you even know what-”

“Yes, yes, I know, but he hasn’t f-… he hasn’t f-… 

“Do spit it out, Turncloak!” Sansa snapped coldly. 

Trying again, Reek stammered, “He-he hasn’t f-flayed you… m’lady.” The mere thought of it seemed to paralyze him from terror. 

“ _Flayed_ me? Are you saying he would do to _me_ what he did to that poor woman?”

“I don’t know m’lady, but it isn’t worth - ” 

“Oh for the gods’ sake, Ramsay is not going to _flay_ me, Theon! He must keep me healthy if I am to bear him children!” 

Having cringed violently at hearing his old name, Reek stuttered fearfully, “You d-don’t know what he’s c-capable of!” 

Sansa grabbed his jaw in her hand. “Well perhaps I don’t,” she said fiercely, crazed desperation plainly discernible on her face. “But I’m not just going to sit here and let myself be _brutalized_. I will find a way to get away from here, with or without your help!” 

Reek looked at her with tears in his eyes. “M’lady, I t- I tried to be brave, but L-lord Ramsay is… relentless… he won’t stop… b-bravery will only bring m-more p-pain…”

“Oh of course,” Sansa said bitterly, dropping her hand. “You’re unwaveringly loyal to him; I see that now. I thought I could seek help from the person I once _knew_ , the person I grew up with, but I was SO WRONG!” she screamed, causing Reek to flinch wildly. 

She turned away and began to sob, covering her face with her hands. Reek stood there awkwardly with his mouth agape, not knowing what to do. Gasping for breath, Sansa stepped over to the open window, placing her hands on the ledge and looking at the view of Winterfell with undisguised sorrow. Thinking perhaps she had finished with him, Reek turned to leave, but as he did so, Sansa wiped her tears on her tattered nightgown and looked over her shoulder, forcing him to turn back tentatively and meet her gaze. 

“Would you have me _submit_ to my loving husband then?” she asked stiffly, her face stained by old tears and new. 

“Yes.” Reek looked at her pleadingly. “Please, that is best…” 

Sansa abruptly surged toward him once more, provoking the fearful being to topple to the floor in his haste to scramble away from her. “You are worthless, you coward! Get out of my sight! Get _out_ , now!” She brandished her arm, pointing at the door. “Get OUT, you coward, you _TRAITOR_!” 

The servant struggled to his feet as quickly as he was capable - his movements were achingly slow on account of his wrecked hands and feet - but this was not fast enough for Sansa Stark. She pulled him up roughly before glaring at him with hatred. “If I could do what Ramsay did to you, I would,” she spat. 

Reek trembled. 

“Now leave before I try.” 

Stumbling over his own feet, Ramsay Bolton’s creation hurried clumsily from the room, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he pulled the door shut. Sansa’s burning gaze followed him as he made his way out, her expression almost terrifying in its intensity.

She waited until she heard the lock turn before letting out an anguished scream, one that attempted to release all of the pent up emotion within. She began to beat her hands against the wall behind her, sorely wishing it were Ramsay she was striking. Over and over her fists struck the wall, every punch expressing rage, desperation, sorrow. 

Hopelessness. 

After she’d exhausted herself of all energy, she fell upon the floor and lay there curled up as dark bruises formed on her knuckles. Ramsay had already covered her arms in contusions; what was a few more on her hands?

When Ramsay came to bed her that night, he took pleasure in tightly gripping her bruised fists as he thrusted into her, watching her face for signs of pain. She gave him nothing, keeping her head turned to the side and her gaze fixed firmly on the stone wall beside them. 

Every so often a single tear rolled down her cheek.


End file.
